


The Lord and the Libertine

by Eledhwen



Series: Hal's Histories [4]
Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/pseuds/Eledhwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the dukedom of Venice, the scandalous adventures of Giacomo Casanova captivate the local society and the visiting vampires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lord and the Libertine

Tom was out, and Alex was watching some DVD or other. Hal paid it no attention – he was too busy washing up, drying, meticulously putting everything away and then wiping all the surfaces in the kitchen. Only when the room was as neat and clean as possible did he venture through to see what she had on. 

“What on earth?” he said, after a moment's contemplation of the bright colours and out-of-time fashion on the screen.

“Casanova,” Alex said. “The BBC version. David Tennant, before he was famous.” Hal must have looked blank, because she rolled her eyes and added: “Doctor Who? Oh, I give up.”

“This is supposed to be Venice?” Hal asked. “And he's supposed to be Casanova?”

Reaching for the remote, Alex paused the DVD. “Yeah. This is one of those 'but he wasn't really like that' moments, isn't it?”

Hal studied the lanky actor on the TV. “He was … actually, I'll grant that there's a mild likeness.” 

Alex looked at him, hopefully, finger poised over the 'stop' button, and Hal sighed and sat down.

“All right, then.”

* * *

Although it was on the decline, Venice in the 1750s was still a city of culture, wealth and excess, and it drew the rich and would-be rich of Europe to it like flies to a honeypot. The canals stank, but the palazzos by their side shone with candles and silk and velvet, and rang to the noise of laughter and music. 

It was a perfect place for vampires. Hal had travelled there with Edgar Wyndham, who was on his way to Istanbul and had requested Hal's presence on the journey. Hal had sensed that this was a moment to make his mark, and had gladly acquiesced to the order. Together, accompanied by a retinue of younger vampires, they had crossed the Channel and hired a carriage to take them through France and across the Alps into Italy, leaving death in their wake. 

In Venice, Wyndham had been greeted with the deference due to an Old One of some 750 years of age by the locals. They swiftly installed him and Hal in a sumptuous palazzo, and introduced them to the city notables. When, after three weeks, Wyndham moved on east, Hal had gained enough respect that he was able to stay. 

The society circles were all abuzz that summer with the news that one Giacomo Casanova, a noted socialite, rapscallion – and, many said, worse – had returned to the city after several years of exile in Europe. Already Casanova's escapades, mainly with women, were causing gossip.

Among the vampires there was much discussion about Casanova. Some said he sounded like an ideal candidate for recruitment, but others pointed out that someone as notorious, as prone to drawing attention, would only draw attention to their kind.

“Perhaps,” said one of the leading locals, cautiously, over a glass of wine with Hal, “you would seek him out, signore? Surely you would be able to judge whether this Casanova would be willing to join us?”

Hal shrugged. “Willing is one thing. Suitable is another.” He swirled the ruby-red wine in his glass, admiring the craftsmanship of the goblet. “But I would like to meet him.”

The opportunity came a week or so later, at a party given by one of the Venetian dukes. Halfway through the evening a ripple went around the room, and all heads turned to see the entrance of a man in impeccable clothes of green silk slashed with red, coiffed and perfumed to an inch of his life. The whisper went around the gathering. Ladies simpered behind their fans and men drew themselves up and straightened cravats. 

It swiftly became apparent that the Venetian nobility were at once fascinated and appalled by Casanova. Not appalled enough to stop him attending society events, and fascinated by his wild tales of adventure. And there was an undeniable charm about him which captivated the women, Hal noticed, something which made every one of them giggle and accept his hand for a dance with a blush. 

Hal decided it would be amusing to draw out the man, and deliberately began selecting his own dance partners in accordance with Casanova's taste. Many a lady that night found herself forced to choose between the flamboyant Venetian and the persuasion of the rich English milord, and found the decision difficult. 

As the evening wore on, Hal noticed Casanova's eyes on him more and more. He affected ignorance, but when the party broke up, followed the man out of the palazzo and along the bank of one of the side canals. He made no particular attempt to be quiet, and was unsurprised when his quarry turned and drew his rapier. 

Hal held up his hands. “I'm unarmed,” he said. “I wish only to talk.”

Casanova lowered the blade, but let the tip rest on the ground rather than sheath it. “Henry Yorke, isn't it?” he said. 

“Call me Hal,” said Hal, noting that the other had dropped his title. “Your reputation precedes you, Signor Casanova. I was intrigued, and back there there was hardly the opportunity for a proper conversation. Although I really expected you to leave with a girl on your arm.”

Casanova laughed. “She's meeting me in an hour, at my apartments. Married women, you know.”

Hal returned the smile. 

“I do. Well, if you have an hour, perhaps a drink, first? I have some good wine.”

With a rasp of metal, the rapier was sheathed. “Lead the way, signore.”

They settled down in the grand parlour in Hal's palazzo, and servants brought wine. Casanova hid it well, but Hal thought that he was impressed by the deference the retinue showed and the opulence of the surroundings. He was certainly impressed by the wine, which had been chosen by Wyndham before he moved on to Istanbul and was of the highest quality – although, as Hal reflected, sipping it, even the best wine could not match fresh, warm blood, in a goblet or straight from the vein. 

“What brings you to Venice?” Casanova asked.

“A desire to see something of the world,” Hal said, shrugging. “It's a fine city.”

His companion smiled. “It's a very fine city, though I don't always get on with its rulers. I expect you've heard the stories.”

“I've heard you're many things,” agreed Hal. “Doctor, lawyer, musician, gambler. Some say you're a thief.”

“Don't forget author and playwright,” Casanova said. “I keep busy. And the women, of course.” He glanced at Hal with a raised eyebrow. “Men, sometimes.”

“Each to his own,” said Hal.

“You're not shocked?”

“Would you like me to be shocked? I have a more liberal mindset than many of my compatriots, signor.”

Casanova looked him up and down and drank more wine. “I see that. It's a good act you put on, a very good act, Lord Hal. They think you're just another English milord, but you're not, are you? Are you even a lord?”

Hal waved an arm around the palazzo. “Not by birth, I'll grant you, but I fought hard for my title and I've earned it.” He leaned forwards. “And I have the power to make your life easier than it is, if you like. You're an intelligent man, signor Casanova, I see that, and you crave something more. You're good at taking what you want, but you don't need to keep having problems with the law. You could move beyond that.”

“Money?” 

“No. Or not only money,” Hal said. He rose from his seat, and moved to the low sofa next to Casanova. “Are you someone who can keep a secret?”

His guest mused for a moment, his hand playing with his lace cuff. “I can keep a secret, but I've been known to sell them too.”

“And if I promised you a swift end, if you sell my secret?”

“Then I'll keep it,” said Casanova. “And now you have me, Hal. I positively will not leave without knowing this secret of yours.”

Hal grinned, baring fangs, and waited for a response. The other man did not scream, or try to run, but instead put a finger out towards Hal's mouth. “May I?” On Hal's nod, Casanova touched a fang, the razor-sharp point drawing blood, and held his finger there as Hal sucked the drop from his skin. 

“Well, now,” he said, pulling out a handkerchief. 

Letting his fangs retract, Hal raised an eyebrow. “Well now?”

“I've heard the legends, but who believes in legends?” asked Casanova, examining his finger and tucking the handkerchief away. “I will believe the evidence of my own eyes. But let us be clear, Lord Hal – what are you offering me?”

“A choice, which few of us have,” Hal said. “You can walk away, today, if you want, and provided that you keep our secret that will be an end. Or you can let me drink you until you are near death's door, and I'll make you one of us. You think women can't resist you now? You could have any woman, any man you want, as long as you want. We have control over the inquisition here in Venice, over Parliament in England, influence with Louis in France, with sultans and kings and nobles across Europe. Your life would be free from the petty obstacles you keep finding in your way.”

Casanova toyed with his wine glass, and Hal stood up to let him think. The taste of his guest's blood hung in his mouth – rich and vibrant and alive – and he found that he did not much mind which way Casanova chose. There was no doubt the man would make an excellent recruit, but there was also every chance that, recruited, he would lose some of the daring and sense of adventure he evidently possessed. 

Draining his wine, Casanova rose. “I thank you, most sincerely, for the offer, signore,” he said. “And for entrusting me with your secret. But I will decline. I like the petty obstacles. I like the thrill of knowing that a knife to my throat could be the end of me. It's the way I am.”

From the window, a bell chimed. “I have an assignation,” Casanova added. He studied Hal for a moment, before stepping close and kissing him; and he did not pull away when Hal drew blood. “I trust I'll see you again, Lord Hal, before you leave Venice?”

Hal swallowed, and licked his lips. “You know where to find me.” 

Casanova bowed, elegantly. “I'll find my own way out.”

* * *

“Tea?” said Hal, ending the story abruptly. 

Alex folded her arms. “You can't end it there. What happened next?”

“Oh, we bumped into each other, once or twice, before I started the journey back to England,” said Hal. “At parties and the opera. He was arrested not long after I left, and after he'd escaped he had to leave Venice. He had a long life, in the end, for the time. And he kept his mouth closed.”

She stared at him, and then burst out laughing. “You shagged him.”

Hal got up. “Tea, I think.”

Alex picked up the remote, pressed 'play', and sat back. “You totally did.”

Hal escaped to the kitchen, leaving her grinning with satisfaction.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as ever to Wikipedia for 'research' purposes.
> 
> The BBC made an excellent, if not-entirely-historically-accurate, miniseries of Casanova back in 2005, starring a not-yet-famous David Tennant. It's well worth seeking out. 
> 
> The escape Hal refers to in the closing scene is infamous; after annoying the authorities too many times, Casanova was locked up in an attic prison, but still managed to get out and flee Venice. He was by all accounts a clever, adventurous, resourceful man. 
> 
> And FWIW, my personal canon totally agrees with Alex's. But there's no way dry!Hal is going to admit to it.
> 
> My personal canon also says that after this Hal goes back to England, meets and kills Lady Mary, and then after a few years heads to France, meets Sylvie and has a "good" period.


End file.
